Free Belle (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 2) by Mary Kingswood Page A

search a little more? I shall be delighted to assist in whatever manner you require. No rug will be unlifted, no furniture unexamined, no cellar unsearched.”
    She laughed and shook her head. “Not the cellars — not yet! Mr Turner suggested a hiding place under the floorboards.”
    “Oh, indeed, that would be the very place! I shall come tomorrow, Miss Belle.”
    “We have the Deacon visiting tomorrow, John, do you not remember?” Miss Endercott said.
    “Ah, so we do. Tuesday, then, without fail. We shall hunt until we find every last box, Miss Belle, and you have all the money you need, and more.”
    “And a large collection of useless keys,” she said.
    “I am sure they have a purpose,” he said. “Why, it seems likely—”
    At that moment, Hope appeared, and Mr Burford blushed furiously and lost the power of speech.
    “You must not keep Mr Burford all to yourself, Belle,” Hope said. “I am sure he wishes to talk to other people besides you. Miss Endercott, you do not mind if I steal him away? For Grace wishes to tell him all about our progress with the school, you know, which I am sure is of great interest to him. Is it not, Mr Burford?”
    “Oh indeed, M-M-Miss Hope.”
    And with that, she led him away to the fire, where Grace, Connie and Dulcie waited expectantly for his stammering attention.
    Miss Endercott chuckled. “You need not worry, my dear. Hope was barely out for a month before your father’s untimely death. As soon as she discovers the pleasures of balls and card parties and all manner of social engagements, she will find herself surrounded by gentlemen far more tempting than Mr Burford.”
    “More tempting, Miss Endercott? Why, Mr Burford is a gentleman of good sense and breeding. He wants but a larger income, and if his wife may supply that, why, I believe he would make a very desirable husband.”
    Miss Endercott laughed even more, and said, “My thoughts precisely,” leaving Belle entirely bemused.
    ~~~~~
    Burford enjoyed Sundays immensely, naturally, for what could be more delightful than an entire evening in the company of the sweetest, most beautiful young lady imaginable? And her sisters almost as lovely, and all of them good humoured. Yet he always felt out of place surrounded by such a bevy of beauties, who twittered and chattered artlessly in the most enchanting manner. They were very kind, and always included him in their conversations. “Do you not agree, Mr Burford?” they would say, giggling, and he would nod vigorously, and sometimes, when he was not concentrating on his speech too hard, he would manage to reply. But mostly he blushed and stuttered and felt exceedingly foolish.
    Now Belle was quite different. She spoke to him about practical matters, and addressed him as if he were a rational person, and it was easy to respond in the same way. He wished sometimes that he could talk to Hope as comfortably as he talked to Belle.
    In his mind, he had a vision of himself and Hope — Mrs Burford, of course, for this was a vision of the future — sitting either side of the fire of an evening, conversing amiably. She would tell him of the children’s progress and how the new housemaid was coming along, and he would tell her of his difficulties with next Sunday’s sermon and the ambiguities of his chosen text.
    But that was where the vision always came to a halt, for not in his wildest dreams could he envisage that Hope would be interested in sermons or Biblical interpretations. He would love to read poetry to her, or extracts from the book he happened to be reading, to share the melody of the words or an arresting idea, but she would be bored, he knew that perfectly well. She was so different from Belle, who had enjoyed his recitation in Brinchester, and had happily argued over the precise meaning of a word or phrase. Yes, his Hope was a delicate creature, not in the least drawn to the intellectual sphere.
    When they went into the dining room, he held back, as always, so